


Gris-gris

by MajorEnglishEsquire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hands, Hunters & Hunting, Injury, M/M, Season/Series 08, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorEnglishEsquire/pseuds/MajorEnglishEsquire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows it's the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gris-gris

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally handwritten for [reassuringnoise](http://reassuringnoise.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I do not own the rights to these characters, setting, show, etc. No harm is intended.
> 
> **Warning for suicidal thoughts.** Takes place S08-ish?

Dean attacks and it attacks, too.

He still can't even pronounce the name of the creature, had found only one scroll to back up the lore on it, and he takes its goddamn jaws straight to the throat as he's delivering the killing blow.

It's like Eve all over again. He is totally, 100% sure he's gonna turn into it with its greasy smile and awful insides, oozing green blood and shuddering form.

As its body falls to the side and he lies on the floor panting, he knows it's the end.

He has no idea how long it will take. Probably no time at all. The lore was so spotty. Dean can feel the bite, the warm blood running down from his neck and soaking into his shirt.

He brings his gun up and contemplates it, still loaded with copper-coated bullets. Enough to kill the creature and certainly to kill himself.

If he's turning--  
He corrects himself.

He is turning. And it's too dangerous now to go back to Sam. They'd been in a tiff and Sam was completely right: he shouldn't have gone off hunting on his own. A thousand times he's lectured his brother on this, on how wrong it is, how you need back-up, and he runs off and does it himself.

Dean calls Sam. Wants to make one last call. And sobs into the phone at the sound of the automated voice telling him, "The person at this number, 620-118-10--"  
He hangs up and doesn't leave a message.

He could maybe call Cas. But it almost feels like the coward's way out not to take his own life -- his own humanity -- into his own hands.

He kneels and looks to the moon out of the broken factory windows. It's a gorgeous night.

He readies his gun. Hopefully it'll look like they just attacked one another and the fight ended badly. The same story as so many other overworked hunters.

Cas is suddenly there. There's the woosh of wings and Dean hunches forward, defeated.

Why did Cas have to be listening? Why did he have to come?

Dean's got the gun up and pointed at himself.

Cas approaches as if Dean were a scared animal, hands out, speaking his name softly.

"Dean. Dean, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"Got bit Cas. Done it once- fuck. TWICE. Can't do it again. We can't know that there's a cure to this. I can't do this again. I can't turn into something ELSE--"

The gun is suddenly twisted out of his hand and ten feet away, slid across the floor. In the same moment, Cas drops to his knees in front of Dean and wraps his hands under his head and whispers, "It's alright. You're not infected. You're not going to turn into anything."

"How do you know? I've never even heard of this thing and it bit--"

"I've got my hands on you," Cas talks over him, assertive, rejecting his objections. "I've got my hands on you and your blood is clean. I wouldn't let you turn into anything. I've got my hands on you," his thumbs caress Dean's cheeks.

Dean's been so weak. Such a little shit. Such an asshole to Sammy and such a shitheel to Cas and he's got no reason for people to keep saving him like this and Sam wouldn't even answer the phone and it's just really emotionally exhausting. So he lets Cas cradle his head and draw him forward. He puts his hand to his neck and it's healed, the blood no longer sliding down his shoulder.

"You can't keep doing this forever. Just fixing me up and renewing me every time I do something dumb, Cas. It's gonna end eventually."

Cas just curls around him and holds Dean in his arms. "Unless you're gonna stop me, I don't know who else would have the power to." He speaks against the side of Dean's head, his lips brushing the edge of Dean's ear. He curves his hand over where the wound was and soothes the muscle there. His hand is warm. It feels like renewal just to be touched by him, nevermind the radiating grace, nevermind the angel powers.

Dean's so tired of fighting.

"Nobody's willing to just let me die in peace," Dean laments, lamely, feeling the pathetic, emo desperation of the words. But letting Cas take his weight, leaning into him, closing his eyes for a moment-- just a moment.

Castiel's grip is tighter now. "If you die, there will be no peace."  
His hands are gentle, holding Dean against himself.  
His words are fierce, holding this promise against the world.


End file.
